


Under This Sun

by Throwthemflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aging, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 10:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14616549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwthemflowers/pseuds/Throwthemflowers
Summary: "The California sun comes in bright and indirect from the balcony, making visible all the lines around his eyes, the way his cheeks are a little more hollow and pale, the smattering of grey hairs where he’d just shorn his sides. Fuck, he's getting old. Pulling off the large tee he’d been wearing, he examines the way his ribs are more visible, his tummy drawn taught across his soft abs, how his hipbones poke through a little sharper now. He's loosing the curviness of youth… at least on his front side. His bum hasn’t suffered."Or, Louis is feeling discouraged about growing older until someone reminds him it's not so bad if you do it with the one you love





	Under This Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy, just a bit of smut and comfort, canon compliant. This is my first *published on ao3* work in this fandom so, I hope you like it. Went a bit Hemingway with the style, I like to switch things up a bit :)

Louis pushes up from the chair, and he needs a smoke. He can feel the urge tugging at the base of his spine, creeping down into his fingertips. He tries to avoid looking in the large mirror that’s hanging on the wall above the spring floral arrangement; he’d protested putting it there, but Harry had gone on about how it ‘opened the room’ and so eventually, as with most decorative things, he’d given in. 

Now it spurns him. The California sun comes in bright and indirect from the balcony, making visible all the lines around his eyes, the way his cheeks are a little more hollow and pale, the smattering of grey hairs where he’d just shorn his sides. Fuck, he's getting old. Pulling off the large tee he’d been wearing, he examines the way his ribs are more visible, his tummy drawn taught across his soft abs, how his hipbones poke through a little sharper now. He's loosing the curviness of youth… at least on his front side. His bum hasn't suffered. 

When the fashion direction had been decided, he’d considered it rather fortuitous. He didn’t feel like opening up his weight fluctuations to fans. It had been a hard year, a hard two years, and what with the grief and the chain smoking and the stunts—well, no matter how many kale smoothies Harry made him, his body had been a roller coaster. 

The grief had done the most, he thinks, as he pokes at the bags under his eyes where the sun casts shadows from his lashes. People think that grief is just sadness, but it’s pain, real, physical, actual pain, and you can’t eat, or think, or sleep, and your muscles tighten and you hold your face differently and even your smile changes. Your eyebrows draw closer together and that carefree way you used to laugh just… it ceases to exist. 

Louis sighs again and slides the balcony door open, stepping out into the sun. The mountains look beautiful in the late afternoon, with their sloped shadows and the soft purple haze of rain-starved vegetation. He’d picked the spot, and he didn’t regret doing so, even if the tax bracket was higher than they’d wanted. Some things were more important than saving money. Like mountains. 

He fumbles in his pocket for the cig. Why he continues to go outside to smoke, he doesn’t know. Harry smokes fairly regularly, it’s not like the house doesn’t smell like expensive candles, weed, and tobacco. Perhaps it’s the vividly remembered look his mum would give him when he’d want to light up inside her house. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself one pane of glass closer to the sky. 

He puffs and breathes, watching the smoke trail away from his mouth like he’s some weak dragon. An old dragon, he thinks. His junk itches, so he sticks a hand down to adjust himself. It occurs to him in that moment that maybe he looks old down there too. Annoyed at his own train of thought but unable to put it to rest, he plops down on one of the cushioned beach chairs and yanks off his trackies. 

His dick flops limply against his thigh, looking rather bleached in the sunlight. The curly hair surrounding it is fine, though a bit matted, and his balls seem to hang a little looser than usual. Louis cups them, wondering when the sagging is supposed to start… he thought at the very earliest, thirty-five. Maybe he'd guessed wrong.

Resigning himself to his aging body, he leans back, fully naked, to soak up the welcoming sunrays. A slight breeze sends goose bumps along his thighs. Some bird makes noise to his right. The cig is warm and comforting between his fingers, between his lips. He closes his eyes just a moment. 

“Want me to get you some soap?”

Louis’ eyes snap open and he squints at Harry, not dignifying his goofy smile with an answer.

“Since you’re sunbathing?” Harry half laughs half snorts at his own joke, his nose scrunching up like a very smug bat. 

“Wasn’t planning on it, actually,” and it’s the truth. He wasn’t. But now, lying naked in the sun, he can feel Harry’s eyes raking him, and a tinge of something nasty coils in his gut. 

“Don’t want to get burnt,” he mumbles, swinging his legs around and grabbing his trousers. But Harry’s too quick, too good at reading him after all these years. He kneels next to him and pushes Louis back in place.

“Lou…. you wouldn’t deprive me of this view, would you? I don’t get to see it often.”

“Might be for the best.” Louis closes his eyes and smashes the cig out on the side table. 

“Lou?” Harry’s voice drops a half octave, and Louis can hear the tone of concern. 

“S’nothing, Hazza, don’t mind me.” He smiles his best smile, flashing his teeth, but then he recalls seeing them a bit nicotine stained in the mirror and he lets his lips fall closed. 

“Something’s wrong.” Harry doesn’t even bother making it a question.

“Nothing is wrong, Harold. Fooking hell.” Louis sits up more forcefully this time, but Harry just presses himself to Louis’ knees. 

“Baby, tell me.” 

And Louis almost, almost lets it come tumbling out, but then the sunlight reveals something else to him. Harry’s forehead seems a bit larger than usual, the line of his hair somewhat farther back. Louis notes the fine creases at the corners of his eyes—like his own but much less deep—and the way his smile lines don’t disappear now when he lets his mouth go slack. Harry’s lips, those beautiful, plump, fruitlike protuberances Louis sucked so much in their youth, so red and rosy and soft, are thinner now, paler, more stretched across the now-wider bone structure of Harry’s face. 

“Lou?” Harry looks confused now, as Louis has been unabashedly staring at him.

“Baby, we’re getting old.” 

Harry snorts. “Is that what this is about? Come on babe we’re only in our mid twenties,” and Harry bites his lip and shimmies a little, wiggling his butt and flopping his curls back and forth suggestively. “Super young.”

“That’s old, Harry! Me mum had me and Lots by this age.”

Harry goes very still, his eyes widening. “Wait, do you want a baby? Oh my gosh, Lou, just say the word and—“

Louis clamps a hand over his man’s mouth, rolling his eyes for the hundredth time, trying and failing not to become endeared. “Hazza, no, I don’t mean I want a baby. I mean… look at us. Just… well…” he sighs, taking in a long breath. “Look at me. Fooking gray hairs. Me dick isn’t even as pretty anymore.”

Louis eyes his soft package as if confessing a personal failure. Harry eyes it too, but then scoops his hand under it, caressing Louis’ sack and running his thumb over his cock. 

“Don’t listen to him, you’re perfect,” Harry coos to Louis’ groin, his voice soft and slightly offended. “You’re the most beautiful penis ever to grow on a human being, and I love you sooooooooo much.”

Harry bends and smooches the tip gently, then, smooching a bit longer, he draws it into his mouth. Louis wasn’t hard before, but he’s getting there now. 

“Harry,” He protests lamely, because nothing is as good as Harry’s lips around him. 

“Mmmmm, mmmm MMMhmmm, mMMMmmm mmm MMM.” 

Louis gets the gist of the sentence, and lies back across the chair. He’s almost fully hard now, aided by Harry kneading his balls. He hears a pop as Harry pulls off for a moment only to lick up the underside and nibble the delicate skin there. Louis twitches and yelps. He almost giggles. 

“Taste so good, Lou,” Harry murmurs, breath heavy, “Look so good, baby, already dripping for me.” 

And that isn’t untrue, Louis realizes, as Harry breaks off for a moment to kiss him quickly and Louis tastes his own salt. Just when Harry’s tongue becomes too much tease and not enough action, he drops his mouth back around Louis, sucking in so hard that Louis rams the back of his throat and Harry gags around him, moaning and loving it, spit dripping down into Louis’ pubic hair.

“Fook,” Louis can feel the heat building in his stomach, and his hips start to roll with Harry’s bobbing head. Harry slides his other hand, which had been squeezing Louis’ bum, to wrap around his base. He begins to clench and tug, up and down, working his saliva into Louis’ skin like an expensive lotion. 

Harry let’s Louis thrust to his throat, then guilds his tip up along the roof of his mouth, along the pink ridges there, until his cock reaches Harry’s teeth, at which point he sucks a ring-like kiss around Louis’ cockhead. Before Louis can shudder or groan Harry repeats the motion, and in half a minute Louis is throbbing. He tries to say words but it’s like the mountains have siphoned the air from his lungs and all he can do is knot his fingers into Harry’s curls and pray somehow that the sharp sunlight will soothe his burning skin. Harry, of course, knows the moment when Louis looses all control and needs to thrust, and he’s ready, letting his man snap his hips and push faster and faster in that obscene rhythm only lovers know. Harry tightens his lips and cheeks and presses with his tongue and moans along with him until Louis comes, spewing ribbons of white gloss that Harry milks from him, sucking and slurping and swallowing like he’s been starved of it. 

Louis tries to calm his breathing and open his eyes, but the sun has gotten so bright whilst he’s been lying there, eyes scrunched tight in pleasure. 

“Baby,” Louis can feel Harry crawl on top of him, can feel Harry’s hardness against his thighs.

“I love your cock, Lou. I’ll love it when it’s old and wrinkled. I’ll love it when it’s droopy and you have to pop erection pills, babe. It’s fucking mine. Forever.” 

Louis buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, feeling his eyes start to sting.

“And,” Harry continues, “I love your gray hairs. Every single one. I love Mr. Silver and Mr. White and Mr. Satin and Mr. Steele…” He kisses along the nape of Louis’ neck as he says it, “and I love the crinkles by you eyes when you smile, Lou.” 

Harry’s voice then goes very soft. “And I love your stomach and your thighs. The dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine.” 

Louis feels a shiver run through him. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is to grow old with you, Lou.”

“You want us to grow old? You’re happy about this?” Louis feels his breath hitch, feels his cheeks dampen. 

“’Course. Because it means we’re still alive, and we get to be alive with each other.”

Louis lets the tears trickle down as Harry nuzzles into him, rutting his erection gently against his thigh, humming some tune-in-progress in the back of his throat. 

“Haz,” Louis whispers.

“Mmm?” 

“Want you to fuck me.” 

Harry stills. “You do?” 

It’s happened often enough.

“Let’s see how young me asshole is with your cock in it.” 

Harry bites his lip and a soft pink floods his face, and Louis can see his youthful Harry still, unworn by the stressful years or the ravishes of time, ruddy and plump and eager and horny and naughty, his lips like fucking candy and his eyes green as emeralds, and Louis thinks, we’re both kids still, really. We’ve not lost anything. So what if we get new lines, new colours, new curves. Like Harry said, it means we’re still making it, and in this world, and with such mountains looming over us, Louis thinks, perhaps we should be pretty grateful.


End file.
